


Of Bats and the Forsaken

by rredhoods



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bat Family, Batfamily Feels, Damian Wayne is Robin, F/F, Gen, Jason Todd is Red Hood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-07-26 20:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7588288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rredhoods/pseuds/rredhoods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was no love loss between the Bats of Gotham and one Jason Todd, but there were nights where they could all put it aside. Or all the times Jason follows his barely beating heart, and the one time he falls to pieces willingly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Damian Wayne

Sometimes he wondered if making idiotic, impulsive decisions was a trait gifted by the Lazarus Pit. If, amid the burning rage and green-tinted vision, it had rewired his brain to follow through with the stupidest ideas. Stopping at the sight of a bleeding bat, for instance.   
  
Part of him wondered why in hell the kid was on his territory, and a larger part of him wondered why he was patrolling alone. If the kid was tagging along with either Batman or Nightwing, they would have found him by now. Hell, they'd be at the manor.   
  
"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in," he raised his voice loud enough for Robin to hear him, freeing his grappling hook from its position and landing soundlessly on the pavement. It was oddly quiet in the old streets of Gotham; was it the brat's doing? Then again, it had been quiet all night, giving him a rather boring patrol. It always went by so slowly when there was nothing to do.  
  
After a quick analysis of their surroundings, Jason brought his attention back onto Batman's newest solider; Damian, Talia's son and Ra's Al Ghul's heir. The kid made no indication of hearing him, which brought forth a small frown and sent alarm bells ringing in his head. Concussion? Unconscious? Stupid? He moved closer, making sure to keep as nonthreatening as possible so that the kid wouldn't throw something at him. For once, he meant no harm.   
  
A startling amount of blood had begun to pool beneath Damian, the red staining the tattered uniform. That much blood...severed artery? Punctured organs? At the very least, it didn't appear to be a head wound, so least the brat had that going for him. Jason bent down next to the prone body, pulling out his pocket knife and cutting away at the uniform, searching determinedly for the wound.   
  
A groan interrupted his silent inspection, and a quick glance at Damian's face found a pair of green irises trained on him, albeit not truly seeing him. Concussion, then; that would only make things worse.  
  
"T-Todd...what are you..."  
  
"Shut it, Demon Brat, you've lost way too much blood," he cut the kid off, not bothering to hide his worry nor his fury. Where the fuck was Batman? Nightwing? Wasn't Oracle on tech support? Weren't there like six Batgirls? Why was another Robin out by his lonesome, minutes away from death's door?  
  
He was supposed to be the last.  
  
Shaking his head vigorously before the familiar pit rage tightened its hold on him, he carried on cutting away the damp cloth and the layers beneath. It was clearly a bullet wound, and he was praying it hadn't gone through a kidney. Finally finding the entry wound, he could see why there was so much blood: the bullet had entered and exited the kid, with minimal complications.  
  
He was a certified jackass, but he let the sigh of relief pass his lips. Besides, wasn't like the kid could hear him.  
  
From there it was just a matter of patching him up well enough for the trip back to the manor. They were too far for Damian to last the trip without medical attention, but Jason had a nearby safehouse with medical supplies.  
  
Though the anger had yet to dissipate, Jason was able to work past it, wrapping makeshifts bandages around the kid's stomach before gently hoisting him up into his arms. It was a true testament to how much pain the brat was in, because he made no protest as Jason cradled him close and began to move, using the shadows to their advantage.   
  
A good twenty minutes later, the duo arrived at one of Jason's shabbier safehouses, a small apartment tucked away in the centre of the grime of Gotham. It was specifically for when Jason was in a shitty condition, because nobody around here would ask questions about the blood and the guns.   
  
Unlocking the door, the first thing he did was set the brat down on the couch. Despite the exterior of the home, all his furniture was new and most definitely clean; infections were a pain in the ass.   
  
With a rough sigh, he stretched out his aching limbs and made his way to the bathroom, pulling out everything that would be necessary for cleaning out the wound. For once, he was glad about the kid's absurdly high pain tolerance; he wasn't too sure what he would do, or say, if the brat needed any form of comfort.   
  
When he returned to the living room, he wasn't even mildly surprised to find the young Robin awake and partially alert; as soon as Jason had stepped in, Damian's head had snapped up. It was hard to suppress a smirk at the look of relief that flickered across the kid's features.  
  
"Looks like a little birdy flew too far from the nest," he couldn't help singing. He set his supplies down on the table and flopped onto the couch, deliberately making sure he looked as relaxed as possible. He didn't want to give the kid a reason to throw something at him; or worse, jump out the window in a vain attempt to escape.   
  
"Tt," Damian spat out his traditional greeting, sounding aggravated. Jason wondered if it was because of his presence or because of the pain he was in. "Why am I here Todd?"  
  
Jason sobered up at the reminder of why exactly he had brought the Bat home with him, and all at once the rage erupted straight from his heart. A burning pain, albeit only a fraction of what he felt in that warehouse so many years ago. Before the memories get could get a hold of him, he shook his head and levelled Damian with a glare.  
  
"Well maybe if you _didn't_ decide to isolate yourself from the pack and get shot you wouldn't be here. What were you doing without a chaperone, anyways?"   
  
"I do not need a chaperone-!"  
  
"Answer the question, you brat."  
  
Silence. Rolling his eyes at the obvious display of stubbornness, Jason got to work on the kid's wound. He first unwrapped the temporary bandages he'd used to ward off infection, and then began cleaning the marred skin with the rubbing alcohol. He was uncharacteristically gentle, moving the cotton balls with just enough force for the job to get done.   
  
Damian watched with him a burning curiosity, unused to Todd's supposed kindness. Why he had saved him? It contradicted everything he had ever thought of the man. Yes, he knew of how deeply his father and Grayson loved the young man. He had caught both of them, on separate occasions, standing idly in front of that ominous memorial in the cave. Shoulders hunched, shaking fingers pressed up against the glass...Damian had no doubt in his mind about the conviction of the love they had for Todd.   
  
But Todd...had forsaken them. He had died, had risen from the dead, and had...had what? He wasn't too sure what became of the ex-Robin after he had left mother and grandfather. He had trained, most likely, in foreign countries under foreign names. Had gotten stronger. Faster. Better. In a strange way, he respected the gun-wielding menace, for what he claimed was true. Or, well, Damian believed in his claim, but kept such thoughts to himself.   
  
The pinching sensation of a needle being threaded through his skin brought Damian out of his reverie, and he looked down to find Todd carefully beginning to stitch the wound together. After being cleaned, it didn't look as bad, which was a relief. Almost as if he could feel Damian's eyes on him, the dark-haired vigilante glanced up, looking for a confirmation of some sort. He felt himself nodding; for some reason, Damian found himself beginning to speak.  
  
"Father sidelined me for a week, and I disagreed with his decision. I then chose to head out on patrol myself, using the spare suit I keep hidden away in my closet. Pennyworth was none the wiser."  
  
Jason let loose a startled laugh, the scenario all too familiar. All the same, a pang of longing shot through his heart, but he was quick to muffle it. "Trust me, brat, Alfred most definitely knows you're out and about. You're in for it when you get home."   
  
The duo settled back into a rather surprisingly comfortable silence, Jason making quick but clean work of the stitching and Damian lulling in and out of focus. It was...odd, how his entire perception of the man had changed in one night.  
  
Twenty minutes later, Jason had the laceration cleaned, stitched, and bandaged. Damian stood, a dull ache spreading through his body from where the bullet had pierced him, but nonetheless it was time to return to the manor and face father's wrath.  
  
"Kid, hold up," Jason stopped him, and was quick to cross the length of the room and rummage through a drawer, the chest pushed up against the wall. After a moment, he emerged holding onto a set of civilian clothes.   
  
"You're in no shape to swing your way home. Change and I'll drop you off," he tossed Damian the jeans and the solid coloured t-shirt.  
  
Damian, for whatever reason, didn't argue with him; instead, he headed into the small bathroom and managed to free himself from the restrictive suit and put on the fresh clothes with little struggle. When he emerged, Todd held out a plastic bag for the ruined suit, and had thrown his jacket off onto the now bloody couch. A set of keys hung from his index finger.  
  
"Ready?"  
  
Damian nodded, blinking in shock when Todd reached behind him to toss a helmet at him. They would be taking a motorcycle, then. He wasn't looking forward to clinging to the man, but if it meant relieving himself of some of the discomfort his injury was causing him...  
  
"Safety first," Jason tossed a dangerous grin over his shoulder as he led the kid out of the apartment, making sure to lock the door behind him. The windows, on principle, were always locked; he rarely used this safehouse, so there was nothing of importance in there, but...quickly, he went through all the locks and traps in his mind. They would hold, and be sufficient enough. He'd double-check some other day, when the sun wasn't beginning to creep up the horizon.   
  
The duo headed down the creaking staircase, rounding the corner to where Jason had his bike parked. Well, one of his bikes; you could never have too many bikes. It was one of only things remaining that he indulged on. He made a mental note to call up Harper and ask him to do a maintenance check on some of his older ones. He also hasn't seen the redhead in a while, and he couldn't quite stamp out the irrational worry he felt. Roy off the radar...that could mean several things.  
  
He and Damian clambered onto the bike, Jason slipping his own helmet on while the baby bat wrapped his arms around his middle cautiously. A roaring engine later and they were cruising down the streets of Gotham, in the direction Jason always knew the manor stood in. Some days, it bothered him, how well tuned he was to the direction of Bruce. What he once called home, who he once thought of as family.   
  
Memories were a pain, he summarized. 

"Todd...why did you have children's clothing in your safehouse?" Damian finally asked the question that had been on his mind since he had first witnessed him digging through that drawer. It served no purpose, no usefulness, in a safehouse meant for vigilantes. 

"Funny story, actually. That safehouse...it's in a shabbier neighbourhood, yeah? And most of the time, there's kids outside on the streets in ratty clothing and no fucking parents around. So I...I sometimes give them something warmer to wear, or something new so they don't catch a cold or some shit like that. There's also a shitload of their favourite foods in all my safehouses, but that's a completely different story."

Damian, for the umpteeth time that night, was completely caught off guard by Todd. He kept...clothing for the homeless children? Food, as well? And lots of it, knowing how many of the man's safehouses Father knew of (more, for all the ones that they weren't aware of). Vague memories of Grayson's stories came back, of a street-worn Todd and a set of tires.

Of course. It made sense that Todd would have supplies for the children of the streets. It was...oddly fitting of the man to take care of his own. In more ways than one, it seemed.

The rest of the trip, Damian was left wondering how much Father truly knew of his wayward son, and Jason wondered how smart it had been to reveal _that_ side of himself to the brat.

All too soon, he was riding up the winding path that would lead to the main gates of Wayne Manor, the ancient building looming in the distance like an ominous storm that had yet to reach its full potential. Behind him, he felt Damian shifting, no doubt preparing himself for the onslaught of anger he would face from Bruce _and_ Dick. Two helicopter parents.  
  
A small, child-like voice whispered in his mind: _Dick was never that protective of you_.   
  
He cussed the voice out and blocked it out completely. Like he cared what Goldie thought of him. Like he cared what any of them thought of him. Long gone was the little kid who thought stealing Batman's tires would be a stellar idea. Long gone was his interpretation of the Robin legacy.  
  
Long gone was the Jason they had all claimed to love.  
  
"Last stop, Wayne Manor," he piped up in a desperate attempt to ward off his darker thoughts. "Get off, kid. Try not to make too much of a ruckus goin' in, everybody should be coming back from their own patrols. Alfred'll be waiting at the door, knowing him, but rip that proverbial bandaid off real quick. A word to the wise? Just say sorry, and he'll leave you alone."  
  
"That's more than unlikely," Damian muttered. "If anything, Father will send me back to mother at Pennyworth's insistence that I am not worthy of the Wayne family name."  
  
Jason started, more than a little surprised at the strained tone the words had been spoken in. Is that what the kid thought was going to happen? Half-buried memories of desperation and fear resurfaced, strong enough to force him to turn the engine off and hop off the bike.  
  
Damian turned, mindful of his wound, just in time to see Todd pulling up the rear.  
  
"Gotta walk the princess to the door, right?" He smirked, but there was a soft...kindness to the otherwise arrogant expression. More of this undiscovered kindness...Damian wondered if Todd had ever shown this side of himself since being drowned in the Lazarus Pit.   
  
Together, they climbed the driveway, both more than comfortable with the silence that hung between them. The heavy morning air weighed down on them, but Jason had always preferred the thick, fresh air to the pollution down below. Only when it didn't remind him of what he had lost, of course.   
  
Finally, finally, they were at the front door, Damian climbing the steps and Jason hovering down below. It wasn't evident that the bird was injured, but Alfred had a keen sense for picking up on things like that. A rare wistfulness descended upon him, and it was then Jason decided to was time to go.  
  
He began to turn away, body aching and mind already looking forward to the few, precious hours of sleep he would soon be getting (it was always better when he was exhausted, because exhaustion kept the nightmares at bay), but paused at the sound of the front door opening.   
  
Alfred stepped out of the manor, blinking in surprise at the sight that awaited him. Damian, in civilian clothes with a plastic bag in his grasp, containing what seemed to be a bloodied Robin suit. And Jason, long-lost _Jason_ , in nothing but a dark tee covered in bloodstains and a pair of worn-out jeans.   
  
"Alf-" Jason started, but cut himself off. The old man probably didn't want to hear anything from him anyways. Memories of all the things he'd done, all the things he'd said, came flying back to him in a hazy mirage of half-truths and agony. Yeah, Alfred most definitely didn't want to hear from him. _You're a traitor, remember?_  
  
Closing his mouth, he shook his head decidedly and continued walking down the path to the front gates. Behind him, Alfred instinctively began to call after him before realizing his efforts would be futile. Jason...Jason had his own perception of what the family thought of him. A shrewd, dark reality where they didn't want anything to do with him, and that? That was the farthest thing from the truth.   
  
But tonight was not the night to prove it to him. Tonight, they would all accept his kindness with good grace and humility, and they would berate themselves for Damian's misfortune.  
  
Some other night? They would bring Jason home.


	2. Stephanie Brown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And without further fanfare, Jason picked up where Stephanie had left off, dismantling the meeting and leaving the grunts in a heap of aching bodies and blood. It looked like a massacre. Well...a massacre without death, anyways. He mentally patted himself on the back for grabbing a backup revolver loaded with rubber bullets just in case he ran into a Bat. Lo and behold...a bat. A newbie bat, but a bat nonetheless. 
> 
> Jason Todd, protector of newbie bats. Heh.

Jason first meets one Stephanie Brown when he (inadvertently) saves her life. Honestly, he was beginning to wonder if someone up there was planning all this Bat-saving. Which of the gods would get a kick out of him playing a hero? He would have to ask Diana-oh, wait, she doesn't call anymore, always spewing out the age-old 'you're a criminal' spiel. Not that it mattered, not after everyone had cut him out of their lives.  
  
Shaking his head, he frowned at himself for getting off-track while Blondie was having her ass kicked. If any of the Bats were watching, it would look incriminating (and, _god_ , he was tired of being falsely labelled). He's quick to grapple down to her location, giving away his presence to both her and the grunts in front of him.  
  
From her spot on the ground, Stephanie was trying to keep herself from glancing at the newly arrived zombie. She really couldn't tell if he was here to help or to laugh. Well, she had heard about how he'd saved Robin about a week ago...but she wasn't a member of the Batfamily. Not a _real_ one, anyways; _maybe_ an honorary member? Hell, Bruce might have something to say about that, even.   
  
Whatever. Like she cared.  
  
(She cared. Shit, she _really_ cared. She shouldn't, she knew, but to fail again...she couldn't. She _wouldn't_.)  
  
"Didn't anyone tell you to pick on people your own size?" Jason drawled, standing over the fallen vigilante. He didn't look down at her, instead tilting his head and watching the fresh fear that his presence evoked. Good. The Gotham City scum hadn't forgotten his helmet.   
  
(They'd forgotten his face, for sure, youthful and cheerful and wearing that red domino mask. No need to remember a failed copy of the original. Small, a Robin, _Batman's_. Dead. Gone before his time.)  
  
"She's was staking out our exchange," one of the gutsier grunts managed to spit out, not bothering to mask his distaste. Jason directed all of his attention to him, idly calculating the distance between them, and the distance between the dickhead and his coworkers. "She had a good beating coming-"  
  
Jason punched him in the face first, leather eating flesh; he heard the satisfying crunch of a broken bone, and the pained yell of an imbecile. Followed by the surprised yelling of more imbeciles. Well, good, it had been a while since he'd made someone scream. Morbid, he knew; a reminder of cold steel and red-hot blood echoed somewhere in his mind and he forced himself to shut down just enough to still get the job done. "Wrong answer, sunshine."  
  
And without further fanfare, Jason picked up where Stephanie had left off, dismantling the meeting and leaving the grunts in a heap of aching bodies and blood. It looked like a massacre. Well...a massacre without death, anyways. He mentally patted himself on the back for grabbing a backup revolver loaded with rubber bullets just in case he ran into a Bat. Lo and behold...a bat. A newbie bat, but a bat nonetheless.   
  
Jason Todd, protector of newbie bats. Heh.   
  
When the moaning and groaning faded to indicate unconsciousness, and the open space was left silent yet again, the ex-Robin finally turned to face the shrouded girl on the ground. She was watching him with an eyebrow raised, the mask she normally wore pulled around to hang around her neck.   
  
The silence continued.   
  
"Y'know, a thanks would be nice, Blondie," he tried, crossing his arms with a jolt of disbelief. There was a good chance that he might've just saved her life, but what did he get in return? Judgement. What a goddamn _Bat_.  
  
"Aren't you supposed to be a villain?" Stephanie mirrored his gesture, crossing her arms over her chest and ignoring the aching pain in her ribs. She couldn't stop herself from wincing, a sharp-shooting hurt echoing through her torso. Probably bruised a couple, maybe even broken a few. The walk back was going to be long, painful, and _humiliating_ ; she resisted the urge to groan. Just when she thought she'd found her footing again.   
  
"Is that what they teach you in How to be Robin 101?" He shot back, a sneer making its way onto his face before he realize she couldn't see his face. Still, he liked to think she could hear his disdain in his voice, and that she would back the fuck off. He was more than a cautionary tale, more than his shortcomings, no matter what the Bat tried to tell his flock.   
  
(He may be a ghost, but he wasn't _dead_.)  
  
In a crude gesture of distaste, Stephanie flipped him the bird, and proceeded to try and get off the ground.   
  
That, of course, turned out to be yet another mistake.   
  
As soon as she was standing on her two feet, her left ankle gave away. She vaguely recalled one of those jackasses purposefully stomping on it, closer to when she was first discovered. Had the bone cracked under the weight? Was it swollen? Why couldn't she feel her foot? Cursing loudly, she flailed with a sense of hopelessness, closing her eyes and bracing herself for impact. Jeez, tonight just wasn't her night, was it?  
  
Only a pair of arms wrapped around her before she hit the ground.  
  
Despite how muscled Jason's arms were, his grip was...surprisingly soft. Almost like he was trying not to hurt her; did he notice her massaging her ribs? That can't be right; Jason Todd wasn't...a considerate person, right? They'd just been trading snarky comments. She'd just called him a villain. She remembered every bloody battle she was told about, remembered the things he did to Tim...Jason wasn't... _nice_.  
  
Except there he was. Scooping up her bruised and battered body into his arms, shifting her around to make sure she was comfortable, before beginning to walk off and back onto the winding streets. Afraid to question the act of kindness, Stephanie settled back against his chest (his really, _really_ broad chest, like _Jesus what the hell_?), and closed her eyes. Oddly enough ( _thankfully_ enough), she didn't have to...she didn't have to act like she was alright. Jason wouldn't care if she was a weakling, right? He probably thought they all were.  
  
(A relief. It was such a _relief_.)  
  
"Rough night?" He asked after a while, absentmindedly, as he moves through the darkness towards a familiar path. Soon they would be on the streets around one of his hidden safehouses, much like the one he had taken Demon Brat to. He could vaguely recall the girl's address, from his long forgotten files on everyone the Bats kept around. Run-down neighbourhood, shitty people on every corner...yeah, he was dropping her off at home, too. Not that she couldn't handle it, because every Gotham City street-rat could take on a pimp or two, but because she was seriously injured. And he may be a certified jackass, but if something happened to her on the streets because she was walking home alone...shit, he could never forgive himself. Or the Bats, for failing her so miserably. Yet again, he wondered where in hell the others were. Why did she have no backup? Why hadn't anyone come looking for her yet? He was starting to wonder when exactly he had developed a habit of patching up broken birds.   
  
(Maybe since realizing he couldn't patch up himself.)  
  
"More like rough life," Steph shoots back, voice bitter and hardened with the burden of truth. Maybe she was high on pain, or maybe she genuinely found Jason to be easy to talk to, she didn't know...all she did know was that all her inner demons were spilling to a man made up of his demons.  
  
"Ain't I know it," Jason solemnly agrees, surprised at the biting response. A response with anger not aimed at him, for once. "Try two rough lives, it sucks more."  
  
A surprised snicker fell past her lips, and when their eyes met the two shared a shark-like grin. It was an odd feeling, seeing so much of herself in the fallen Robin turned antihero. After all the stories, all the myths...Stephanie could only identify Jason as a kindred soul. A broken, bleeding mess of a soul, kept together with tape and safety pins, but still...he _had_ a soul. Like her.   
  
Why did the others _forget_ that?  
  
"So, dearest Hood...where the hell are you taking me?" Her grin never fading, she could feel the tension leaving her body the longer she spent time in Jason's presence. What did it say about her when she was more comfortable around him than any of the other Bats? Except Cass, but her babe was the exception to everything. Mostly because she was _exceptional_.   
  
"Well, Blondie, you've won the chance to bleed all over one of my couches, and then a ride home with your friendly neighbourhood asshole," Jason tossed back at her, and came to a stop. She blinked, glancing around, but he had only stopped to climb the metal staircase that would lead them to what she was assuming was the window of his safehouse.   
  
"Sorry 'bout any discomfort, kid, but just hang tight for a second," he grunts, shuffling her around in his arms as he pries upon the window and slips them inside. Stephanie bits her lip to keep herself from swearing loudly at the stinging pain echoing through her entire body, but Jason is quick to stabilize her again; it doesn't last long, the pain, and she is grateful.   
  
"You're not that much older than me, you know," she bites out through the pain, rolling her eyes at his responding chuckle. He doesn't dignify her offended statement with a response.  
  
The apartment is dark, the living room lit up by the dull moonlight shining through the large windows. Despite the area it was in, the apartment was in...surprisingly good shape. _Really_ good shape, from what she could see, and it was clean. Alfred would be proud of how freakly clean it was.  
  
"How have you not gotten robbed yet?" Steph asks in awe as he gently sets her down on the couch. It was an older model, made of soft, supple leather the colour of buttermilk. She felt bad that she was bleeding all over the thing, ruining it. That thought stuck, freezing her blood and melting her bones. It was a familiar feeling, one always followed by a plethora of emotions, with panic and fear and anger. A reminder. She was _ruining_ it, she was making it worse, she was-  
  
A pair of fingers slid underneath her chin, gently forcing her head to tilt upwards. She found Jason's eyes (when had he taken the helmet off?), a strange kindness in them that she hadn't expected to find in a man so lost in his own ghosts. Had she really been that transparent with her panic?  
  
( _Help me_ , she wanted to plead. Help me, because no one else _can_.)  
  
"It's just a couch," his words are rough, but their weight is enough to lift the burden off her shoulders. Her eyes closed, a sob threatening to push past her lips as memories flitted across the back of her eyelids. Of torture, blood, and sickening laughter. Of her life, her existence, being used to emphasize a _point_. God, she and Jason were so alike, weren't they? Rebellious soldiers, street-rats, _Robins_. Dead before their time, their memory used for other people's agendas.  
  
Is this why Bruce could never look her in the eye?  
  
Jason could identify a panic attack almost as easily as he could shoot someone. It was almost like a second nature, at this point of his life...how many of his own had he had to go through over the years? So when Stephanie's breathing roughened, when her shoulders began to shake and her eyes became glassy, he was right there with her, holding her chin and a free hand on her arm. He could do this. He could carry out this one, small act of kindness, for a kindred soul like him.  
  
He could see this through.   
  
"You're fine," he began to speak, verbalizing the words he always said to himself subconsciously, whenever he found himself tucked into a corner of one of his bathrooms with a gun in his hands. A gun with a single bullet. "You're fine, you're here, and you're still kicking ass, alright? There's things they took from you, in the face of death, but there are things they will _never_ take from you. Things that make you Stephanie Brown, Spoiler, a _Robin_. A fighting spirit. Bruised knuckles. Years spent in the grime of Gotham, fighting the good fight to make it out alive. That's you. And they can't _ever_ take that away from you. You gotta remember that. In the darkness, when you're lost in the memories...you gotta _remember_ that."  
  
Slowly, throughout his speech, Stephanie felt her sobs ebb away to give room for an unfamiliar warmth in her chest, spreading through her aching limbs like a soothing balm. Somewhere between his words, Jason had ended up on the couch, with Stephanie in his arms. He was ever so mindful of her ribs, even as he let her lay her head down on his chest and just... _rest_. Let her give in the the exhaustion running her down to her bones, and let her _heal_. In a way that she could never hope to get from the Bats. She loved them, she did...but she could never let down her walls around them, save for Cass.   
  
They stayed like that for a while. Jason, staring off into nothingness. Stephanie, with her eyes half-lidded.  
  
"It's...hard, y'know? Getting over it," she murmured. She finally sat up, leaning back against the couch and beginning to take off the suit so Jason could tend to her wounds. The suit stuck to her, and there was no holding back the grunts as she accidentally ripped off a few scabs. Without the suit, she was left in a tanktop and a pair of shorts, leaving her scars visible to the naked eye. To someone other than herself, and Cass. And, for once, she didn't mind. "They all...they all expect me to. To forget it happened, to compartmentalize the way they're infamous for. But I...I _can't_. It's a reminder. For...for-"  
  
"-For why you do what you do and why you do it the way you do it," Jason finished off the thought, knowing the train of thought too well. He repeated it to himself, more often than not, when things were just too much. When a sliver of guilt got through his walls. To stop himself from trailing off into the dark, forbidden recesses of his splintered mind, he got to taping up her ribs, mindful of her boundaries and always keep an eye on her face for any indication of discomfort. "Yeah, kid, I know. I _know_."  
  
For a few minutes, they sat in mutual silence, Jason continuing his work and Stephanie contemplating the man beside her. A boy who had to grow up too fast, much faster than even a street-rat. Life had handed him such a shitty hand of cards...yet here he was. Playing with what he was given. Would she ever even have a shred of his resilience?   
  
She hoped so.  
  
"I'm sorry," she spoke abruptly. He paused from where he was examining her ankle, glancing up at her with inquisitive eyes. "I'm sorry they don't understand how hurt you are."  
  
"Stop-"  
  
"No," she was firm in her determination. He needed to hear this just as much as she needed to hear his words. "No, Jason, what they did to you, what they made of your memory...it isn't fair. You...you didn't die to become a warning. You didn't come back to be cast aside in favour of a dead soldier. You deserve better than what they gave you."  
  
Silence. Silence that reigned long enough for her to wonder if she had said the wrong thing.   
  
She jumped a bit when an arm wrapped around her in a hug, Jason's head falling down onto her shoulder. She politely ignored the way he shook.  
  
"Thanks, Blondie."  
  
"Anytime, Hood."  
  
After that, their banter was truly lighthearted; they could laugh without the burden of the shadows that haunted them elsewhere. Jason finished patching her up, and now sat cross-legged in the seat beside her.  
  
"He really spilled coffee on Alfred's antique carpet?" Jason snickered, and could only imagine the old butler's face at the sight of the pristine white stained brown.  
  
"Tim thought he was going to be disowned," Stephanie cackled, remembering the boy's panicked expression and straight up hysteria when he had found her. "Thought bleach could fix an antique carpet that's, like, older than Gotham."  
  
Jason shook his head, his grin never fading. Stephanie realized he looked so much more at peace when he wasn't smirking, sneering, or covered in blood. He looked...well, he looked normal. She was glad she could bring that out of him.  
  
(She wasn't sure many others could.)  
  
"Well, Blondie, it's late," he finally said, stretching his back in a way that had his bones cracking. "Let's get you home, yeah?"  
  
Back to the darkness. Back to the memories. Back to reality, away from the safe haven of his apartment. She could tell they were both hesitant to be alone, and in that moment she made up her mind.  
  
"Or we could grab some blankets, some popcorn, and throw on a funny movie," Stephanie suggests, hoping she doesn't sound as desperate as she feels. At this time...Cass would still be on patrol. And she did not want to deal with a pissed off Batman, expecting a report on why she was missing and why she was off radar.   
  
"You sure, kid? You wanna spend more time with the big bad Hood?" He snarks, to hide his equal share of desperation. When was the last time he had a night off with someone? Roy. It had been Roy.   
  
"I'm a big kid and can make my own decisions," she glares at him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Now pop a movie in and grab me some popcorn."  
  
"Such a demanding asshole," he mutters under his breath, but nonetheless heads to the kitchen. Stephanie, in the meantime, pulls out her phone, and is surprised to find 20 missed calls from various members of the Batfam, and, like, 167 unread texts, even some from Bruce and Alfred.  
  
She thought about answering them, going home to ease their worries. But then she thought about Jason, shaking and broken and hurting just like she was. A calm in her storm. A twin, in every way that mattered to her. With that in mind, she gave her phone an apologetic glance.  
  
And then turned it off.  
  
"What was that about?" Jason startles her, already back in the room with a bowl of popcorn and a couple of blankets. She tosses her phone back into her utility belt, and turns to him with a bright smile.  
  
"Just my mom checking up on me," she shrugs. They both can hear the lie, but thankfully the he elects to ignore it; instead, he hands her the blankets and the popcorn, and put _22 Jump Street_ into the DVD player before finally settling down onto the couch beside her. Immediately, she hands him the popcorn bowl and clambers onto his lap, curling up against him and covering them both with blankets.  
  
"Seriously?" He groans, but makes no move to push her off. She counted that as a victory. And for a few hours...they forgot the world outside the living room, the world so hellbent on hurting them beyond fixing. Right here, beside each other, there was nothing that could hurt them. She was so glad to have discovered this side of Jason, the remains of the hurt little boy he had been.   
  
So, _so_ glad.  
  
"Jason?"  
  
He made a noncommittal noise, indicating that he had heard her. She burrowed further under the blanket that shrouded both of them, calloused fingers finding a grip in his loose-fitting wifebeater. When they were together, she realized, the cold grasp of death couldn't reach them. And it was with no small burst of affection that she realized Jason was, in the span of a single night, a friend. A companion. And in every sense of the word...a brother.  
  
The gift of a friend.  
  
"I'm glad you're alive."  
  
He couldn't hide the strangled gasp that fell from his lips (or was it a sob?). She felt a hand tangle itself in her hair, pulling her impossibly close, and she let him. A foreboding feeling exploded in her stomach, and she wondered why her words rendered the stone-hard man speechless.  
  
Jason's emotions were overwhelming, disorienting, the girl's simple words setting him off in a way that nothing else had done that night. _I'm glad you're alive_.   
  
"No one's ever said that to me before," he finally rasps, his voice strained from the effort it took not to shed tears. Stephanie, bless her, heard the struggle and only held him tighter, fiercer. Shit, the kid had wormed her way into his frozen wasteland of a heart. "No one."  
  
"Well, I'm saying it now," she tells him, firm. "I'm gonna shove a batarang up Bruce's ass the next time I see him. Maybe it'll make him feel something other than paranoia and anger."  
  
He couldn't help it. He burst into laughter, the mirth a breath of fresh air. Satisfied, Stephanie settled back down, her legs curled up far enough that nearly her entire body was atop Jason's torso. He didn't mind.   
  
Jason remembered all the sadness and frustration. He remembered all the misery, the loneliness, the agony. The pain. The loss of family. He remembered all his memories that held him down, that clung to him like vines of pure darkness and hellacious destruction. He remembered all of it.  
  
And he let it go.  
  
(At least for the night. For her. He could do it for her, for the girl who so desperately needed someone to relate to. Someone to show her a better way. He could try and be that person, for as long as they could fool themselves.)  
  
"Thanks, Steph," he murmured, his words sincere. His eyes were sliding shut. "For everything."  
  
"Same to you, Jay," her words were slurred, tied together by her sleepiness.   
  
"Now get some sleep, squirt."  
  
"Sure thing, gramps."

* * *

In the morning, they both arose a few hours after dawn, Steph being shuffled into the bathroom where Jason handed her a new toothbrush and a small tube of toothpaste, the kind you take on vacation. He also handed her a fresh pair of sweats and a t-shirt, instructing her to take a shower ("you smell like a fucking sewer, Blondie"), and telling her breakfast would be ready when she was done.  
  
"Waffles," she tells him solemnly. He only rolls his eyes and walks out of the small bathroom, but never saying 'no' to her request. With a grin, Stephanie begins to clean herself up.  
  
Twenty minutes later, she's bounding out of the bathroom, fresh-eyed and smelling manly. She wondered if all of Jason's manliness came from his bodywash; she made a mental note to tease him about it later. The smell of fresh waffles stops her short, and the sight before her stuns her into silence.  
  
Somehow, in the time she had taken to clean up and shower, Jason had thrown together a 5-star meal. Every breakfast meal _ever_ was on the table, from bacon to fucking _crepes_. And in the middle of it all, a tower of waffles, topped with whipped cream and fresh fruit.  
  
"I'm a bit of a cook?" He interrupts her awe, sounding sheepish. Jason himself was dressed in an apron that read 'Kiss the Deadman', ruffled hair and barefoot and all. The Red Hood in such a domestic situation...she couldn't stop herself from grinning like an idiot.   
  
"You're gonna marry me and feed my girlfriend and I every morning," she plops down into the seat beside him, grabbing a plate and piling it with waffles. Jason had a much more balanced plate, filled with bacon and eggs and a crepe. "You can be Mr. Brown, but that's all you're getting out of the marriage, sorry."  
  
"If I were to agree to marry someone just for them to exploit my cooking, I'd have to accept Roy's proposal," Jason huffs, looking somewhat offended. "The idiot bought a ring and everything."   
  
She couldn't help it, she burst out laughing; he looked so affronted while shoving bacon into his mouth. The meal became easy banter after that (as the case between them seemed to be exactly that all the time), the two of them planning a mock wedding between them, and then imagining the wedding between herself and Cass. She became wistful.  
  
"You'd be my Maid of Honour, right?" She asks, finishing up her last waffle. She would have to crash at his place every night, just to wake up to his waffles. God _damn_ , they were better than any waffle she had ever had before in her entire _life_. The infamous Hood, murderer, ex-Robin, had won over her heart wholly and completely.  
  
"Damn right, I would rock a dress," the man pretends to flip hair over his shoulder, an easy grin on his face. Saturday mornings had never been this relaxing before. "That being said, let's get ya home, Blondie, before your girlfriend murders my ass a second time for holding you captive."  
  
She rolled her eyes good-naturedly, grabbing his plate despite his loud protests and beginning to wash them both. Behind her, she could hear Jason moving around, and the clanking of keys somewhere in the living room. When she finally finished up with the dishes, he was waiting for her, a helmet and a plastic bag with her suit in it in his outstretched hands.  
  
"Safety first," he said so seriously she wasn't sure if it was meant to be a joke. She takes the helmet without protest and puts it on, following Jason to the window they had climbed in through. Daylight made the corresponding alleyway seem much less menacing.   
  
He turns, holding out his arms, and she realizes he's asking for permission to lift her. In her euphoria over finding a companion in the wayward vigilante, she had all but forgotten the injuries she had sustained last night. With a smile of gratitude, she lets him pick her up in his arms and carry them both out the window.   
  
Once on the staircase, Jason jumps from landing to landing, mindful of the girl in his arms. They reach the ground with no complications, and Steph sees a bike tucked into the shadows behind the dumpsters. It isn't the bike that Red Hood used, so she could only assume it was Jason's personal bike.  
  
"Hop on," he tells her, setting her down on the ground and pulling his keys out. She bounds over to the bike, an excited glint in her eyes. The speed, the exhilaration...man, Steph loved bikes. After they were both comfortable and ready to go, they were cruising down the busy roads, passing by everyone on their way to work. Jason knew every shortcut, every alley that cut through the streets, and in short time they were driving through her neighbourhood. Stephanie watched houses fly by, eyes on the kids playing outside. It was a peaceful day.  
  
"Here's your stop, Blondie," Jason says as he pulls up to the curb in front of her house. Steph is barely off her bike before a familiar figure bursts out of her window, black hair billowing in the wind created by her momentum.  
  
"Stephanie," Cass says, her voice straining.  
  
"Cass!" She's racing across the lawn now, throwing herself into the girl's lithe arms. She's vaguely aware of Jason, still on his bike, tense. Waiting. But no; here, in Cass' arms, she was safe. "Hey, how long have you been here?"  
  
"Since...dawn," the other girl murmurs, holding her tight. Steph notices the tremor running through her girlfriend's body, and she flushes with regret over turning her phone off last night. Pulling back, she pressed her forehead against Cass' in a vain effort to soothe her frayed nerves. "You..went dark. No response. Barbara could not...find you."  
  
"Yeah, sorry," she whispers, shamed over worrying the girls. "I ran into some trouble and Jason saved me. Took me to his safehouse, and patched me up. I spent the night."  
  
Finally, Cass' eyes wandered over the blonde's shoulder, searching out the man they spoke of. He was leaning casually against his bike, and threw a shark-like grin in their direction, coupled with a wave, when he realized their attention was on him.   
  
"Red Hood...saved you?" Cass' brow furrowed, the story reminding her of a story she had heard last week. From Damian. Of the same man, saving him. She had been there, when he had come home; Bruce had been beside himself, and even his relief was palpable at the sight of his youngest, alive and home.   
  
All thanks to Jason Todd.  
  
Cass lets go of Steph, and instead walks closer to the man. She is able to read the tension in his muscles, the discomfort he felt being in her vicinity...but he doesn't back down. His eyes flicker above her head at Stephanie, but he does not back down.  
  
He is, however, surprised once Cass puts a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
He blinked. Steph blinked. Cass' expression stayed the same.   
  
"You're welcome, Bat."  
  
"For saving Stephanie, and...Damian."  
  
Jason jolts at the reminder of his past deeds, and manages an uncertain nod. Cass gives him a small smile, a nod, and turns back to Stephanie, who awaits her patiently, a victorious grin on her face.  
  
From his vantage point, Jason watches the duo embrace again, words being spoken in low tones. The Bat has a hand on the back of Steph's head, holding her close as if fearing the girl's disappearance. Steph is at ease, loose and relaxed in her girlfriend's grasp. However silently, Jason approves of her choice in a partner; they made each other happy. They complimented each other. Like the sun and the moon, yin and yang.  
  
He's happy for the kid, but it was time to go. She was in good hands now.  
  
"I gotta go get some shit done, Blondie," Jason calls across the distance. They turn to him, still tangled up in each other's arms. "Don't die."  
  
"Shut up, Jay."  
  
Jason leaves the happy couple with a grin on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, it's finally done! A present for my dearest Julieta, this got out of hand really quickly and snowballed from there, aha. Jay and Steph are probably my most fave Batkids brotp!! It was also my first time writing Stephanie, but Julieta approved of her characterization sooo :^) 
> 
> Also, I would really like to thank everyone for the immense support I've gotten for this fic already. It's ridiculous how many of you enjoyed the first chapter, and I really hope you enjoyed this one just as much, if not more!


	3. Dick Grayson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Let me go,” Jason repeated, but it came out as a plea, as a half-torn sob that tasted of injustice and blood and suffering. 
> 
> “Never,” Dick gave him a heartbreaking smile, as bright as the dawn light.

He finds Jason atop a rooftop somewhere deep in Crime Alley, his lone figure surrounded by dissipating smoke from the cigarette hanging from his lips. His hood was tucked underneath his left arm, and he was lost in thought; even from a distance, Dick could tell his eyes were clouded over with indescribable emotions. He only spared but a moment to wonder what the other man was thinking about.

“Hood.”

Jason turned, wind ruffling his mess of black curls, and Dick forced himself into a neutral stance, even as those sharp eyes honed in on his face. Those eyes that had seen so much, had stared down enemies, friends… _family_. Eyes that had seen one mother’s dead body, and another’s betrayal. Had seen the vivid greenness of the Lazarus Pit.

Eyes that had stared down the barrel of a gun many, many times.

“Dickface,” Jason acknowledged, tossing his cigarette out and grinding it under his foot. He, of course, noticed the man’s defensive stance, the tightness of his jaw. Golden Boy was pissed, and was most likely pissed at _him_. Which wasn’t fair, really, because what the fuck had he done in the last few days? He’d been laying low, his patrols uneventful and plans currently in the development stages. He really hadn't done anything that would warrant a visit from Nightwing himself.

“Why have you been hanging around Stephanie and Damian?”

Ah. _That_. 

Ever since the consecutive saves he had made, the two batbrats had been hanging around him consistently, Stephanie more than the Demon Brat. The blonde usually came over after class, hauling her homework and some take-out so she could share something with him. Especially since he usually cooked dinner for them; in her eyes, the least she could do was provide a late lunch. It was…nice, when she was around; the company did well to offer him some normalcy during the day. She would do her homework, chatting animatedly, and he would listen, blueprints splayed out in front of him as he organized his next hit.

(A part of him realized, with a jolt, that she was _his_ Robin. And deep down, buried beneath the rubble of a broken building and burning ashes, he knew he was her hero. Her Batman. 

He didn’t want to ruin that. Not now, not _ever_.)

Cass would sometimes join them, before the trio would part ways for their respective patrols. He pretended not to notice Spoiler’s sudden change in routes, or how she was always bumping into him during their nightly jobs. He was no less brutal, but the Red Hood hadn’t killed an adversary in quite some time.

(She knew it was for her and Damian, above all else. She knew, and she loved him all the more for it.)

He knew she was spending much more time with him than the other Bats, excluding Cassandra, without a doubt turning down offers in his favour. Whenever he brought it up, however casually, she would brush it off, claiming it was of no relevance. But he knew it bothered Bruce, probably bothered Tim and Alfred, and _all_ of them, really. And now he knew it bothered Dick for certain.

His fellow ex-Robin was nearly as stubborn as he was, though she had infinitely more to lose, in the form of friends, family, and partners. That didn’t stop Steph, though, and he highly doubted it ever would.

Damian, however, was a completely different story. 

The boy showed up after school, just like Stephanie, but it was for fleeting moments; Bruce obviously had a leash on him. Still, it was endearing, watching him try so hard. Jason made sure to have some sort of treat on the table around 3PM, and always had his dogs around. Damian loved the happy trio of golden retrievers, who Jay had affectionately dubbed ‘Cerberus’ whenever the three were together. Laurel, Dixon, and Moony loved Damian, too, and had begun to look forward to the few minutes the boy would have to spend with them.

Jason may not truly know what love was, but he knew what he felt for his dogs was the closest thing to a conventional sense of love. Maybe what he felt for Steph, Cass, and Dami was pretty close, too. And Roy. And Kori. 

(Maybe he was learning, finally, how to rewire his broken heart.)

“Well?” Dick prompted him, tone hard. Jason shook himself out of the reverie his memories had pulled him into, and regarded the older man with a contemplative look. He knew how protective Dick could be of the younger Bats, especially where he was involved...the situation could get out of hand. Fast.

“Well what, Goldie?”

“What exactly are you playing at?" 

Jason scoffed, crossing his arms and shifting on his feet. Of _course_ he had to be working some sort of angle. Of course Dick would assume the worst of him from the get-go. Had he even talked to the two birds before deciding to find the vigilante? 

(Some childish part of him hurts at the prospect of being automatically blamed for something he didn’t do, like a foregone flame flickering back into existence at the slightest, provoking breeze. He stares into the shattered mirrors of his soul, and finds a bright-eyed, scrappy kid staring back, lip swollen and pale skin bruised.

It wasn’t his fault.

_It wasn’t his fault_.)

“Not playing at anything, ‘Wing. Really find that hard to believe? Bet it sucks, knowing the kiddos prefer me over you,” Jason throws at the original Robin, pulling out his grapple and feeling infinitely tired. Some other day, before all of this mess, he would take the opportunity to attempt to gun down the man, but the resurfacing memories of Arkham and the thought of the baby birds were enough to stop him from pulling out a gun. If Steph ever heard about this, there was no way he could stop her from raining hell down upon Dick, and then the shitstorm would _really_ start. 

“Hood!”

_Speak of the devil._

The soft thud alerted the duo to the presence of another vigilante long after her greeting had, and it was with no small amount of trepidation that Jason regarded his blonde squirt as she bounded over to him with a bright grin on her face. She looked like she was already ready to say something else, but her eyes finally wandered beyond his hulking frame and took in the fact that they weren’t alone. 

“Nightwing?” Stephanie comes to a full stop next to Jay, a certain wariness settling over her as she took stock of the situation. “What are you doing here? This isn’t a part of your patrol route.” 

It was astounding, watching Stephanie reach out and grab one of Jason’s hands. His fingers curled around hers in a way that looked nothing but reassuring, and when he tugged her into his side, she went willingly. They held each other in a mutual showing of trust and reassurance, Steph looking at home pressed up against the much larger man. A shock jolted through Dick, coupled with a startling realization that would’ve left a lesser man reeling.

_They looked like siblings._

What exactly had he missed?

“I came to have a talk with Jason,” Dick kept his tone deceptively light, offering Spoiler a meek smile. A foreboding feeling had settled into the core of his being, and was getting heavier by the second. He was missing something, and he was missing something _big_. Some part of him wondered if he was going about this the right way, but the larger, protective part of his personality soldiered through. “Any way I could convince you to give us a moment alone?” 

Stephanie tilted her head sideways, eyes darting between Dick’s countenance and Jason’s clenched jaw. She felt a white-hot burst of protectiveness flare through her, tempering the steel of her resolve; Jason needed her. He may never admit it but she knew, almost instinctively. He carried around his demons with him for so, _so_ long, and now he shouldered the burden of _her_ demons, too.  At the very least, she could do this for him. 

She could shield him from their world.

“Nah, I don’t think so,” she threw Dick a feral grin. It was a thing of beauty, really; her sharp teeth coupled with her glowing eyes and dancing hair painted the image of a goddess, ready for war.

(She remembered Jason’s calloused hands stroking her hair back as she sobbed into his arms, her entire being rattled following yet another series of nightmares. 

He always knew, when she woke up with her mouth open in silent terror. He always came running, came ready, came determined. To help her. To save her from herself. 

To wash away the darkness with a dingy old flashlight and a tired smile full of brotherly affection.)

Dick fell silent at that, uncharacteristically stumped. As he went through plan after plan in his head, he absentmindedly watched Steph rise onto her tiptoes, murmuring into Jason’s ear. If the situation wasn’t so serious, Dick would undoubtedly find Jason’s facial expressions comical; clearly whatever Steph was saying was too much for him.

“I just want to understand,” Dick admits, interrupting the conversation between the duo. Jason had an unreadable look on his face, a cross between anger and indifference, whilst Steph looked…knowing. Knowingness, with a touch of incredulity that had her eyes glowing in the dim moonlight.

“Maybe if you and Batman didn’t enjoy caricaturing Hood, I’d feel a bit sorrier for you. But seeing how Pops loves telling the kiddies what a _mistake_ Jay was…I don’t know, Dick, why we should even bother trying to dispute whatever bullshit story you’ve come up with.”

Stunned silence followed her biting commentary, and Dick couldn’t stop the echoing pain from wreaking havoc somewhere in his soul.

“That’s not fair,” he managed, voice hoarse. “I’m just trying to protect you—” 

“No, you’re being overbearing and ridiculous and _biased_!” Steph snapped, taking a step forward. Dick flinched, disbelieving eyes taking in the way she was glaring him, and the way Jason looked on almost uncomfortably. Almost like he didn’t believe that she was doing this, here, and the way she was.

He didn’t quite believe it, either.

“Steph, c’mon, leave Nightwing alone and let’s head back onto patrol. I’ll make you cookies if you drop it,” Jason tried to cajole her, to no avail. Spoiler just wasn’t backing down, not on this, and most certainly not to Dick, of all people.

He just hoped the Bat wasn’t around the corner. 

“He’s killed people, Spoiler, I have a very good reason not to trust him around my siblings,” Dick was trying to reason, pulling at straws, really, but he had to at least _try_ and make her see reason. 

She huffed. “You think he’s threatening me and Robin? Why don’t you come find out for yourself, huh? Instead of standing there and doing the typical Bat thing and judging a book by its cover!”

“Do you mean come back to his apartment with you?” 

Stephanie nodded vigorously, newfound determination lighting up her eyes. 

Huh. That must have been what she had been whispering into Hood’s ear. The idea did have its appeal, and knowing where Jason mainly stayed may come in handy in the future. Slowly, he found himself nodding.

He wondered if, by the end of the night, he would regret his decision.

* * *

Jason lived on the grimier side of the city, deep in his own territory. 

Dick followed them into the cozy apartment, sharp eyes watching the way Jason ruffled Steph’s hair and the way she whined in response. He had tossed his helmet onto a small table out in the foyer, and his guns next to it. Steph hung up her cape and mask in the closet, in a spot that was clearly designated for her; he could see more of her clothes, shoes, and accessories tucked away in the small alcove. He knew they had been hanging out, but this—

Loud, jovial barking interrupted his train of thought.

Startled, Dick glanced around and was utterly flabbergasted to find Steph and Jason somehow on the floor, surrounded by three _very_ happy dogs. The latter was tightening a little, pink bow atop one of their heads, and Steph was readjusting the bowtie on another.

Jason…had _dogs_?

“Hey, folks,” Jason grinned at his friends, petting and stroking their fur as they each took turns cuddling him. “Laurel, I hope the boys were well-behaved?” 

A single bark followed his question, almost like an answer, along with a lick straight across his face. He spluttered indignantly and was vaguely aware of Steph’s uproarious laughter, and felt some dead part of his heart light up.

Home was a blonde squirt and three equally blonde dogs.

With the happy trio bouncing around their legs, the two vigilantes climbed back onto their feet, and only then remembered the newcomer. Jason felt his mirth fading as he glanced back at Dick, who was watching the proceedings with a certain amount of awe. 

“You breathing, Dickie?” 

Sensing the underlying current of hostility in their owner’s tone, the fluffy trio was suddenly highly alert, crowding further into the foyer and baring teeth at the unfamiliar scent. Dick wasn’t nervous— _really_ —but the loyalty present…he felt his perception of Jason further depreciating into nothingness, leaving him an enigma in its place. 

Jason almost laughed as Moony determinedly pushed a furry paw against his legs, seemingly wanting his owner to leave. He was flanked by Laurel and Dixon, the latter on his haunches as he prepared to launch himself at the threat.

“Relax, Cerberus, he’s…a friend.”

Almost as if a switch had been flipped, the dogs were back to being happy-go-lucky and bouncing about, looking at Dick expectantly. The elder man had to resist the urge to coo at the sight, lest he give up any pretense of intimidation he had left.

“Who’s who?” He found himself asking, a wilful smile tugging at his lips as he indulged the pups with gentle rubs.

“The pretty one in the pink bow is Laurel. The little rascal in the bow tie is Dixon, and the nudist is Moony,” Steph supplied helpfully, already moving further into the apartment. “Their collective unit is what Jay has tenderly dubbed Cerberus. Oh! And Dixon is Laurel and Moony’s pup.”

“Don’t call Moony a nudist!” Jason couldn’t stop himself from snapping. Dick felt his tentative smile widen; the Red Hood, feared vigilante of Crime Alley, was _blushing_.

“Yeah, yeah, you know Moony doesn’t mind! He likes me best.”

“That’s extremely subjective, squirt.”

“I’m not even that much younger than you!” 

Dick listened to their easy flowing banter with both burning curiosity and a shameful flare of envy. How did Stephanie get along so well with their wayward brother?

_You never tried, did you? You shunned him for taking your spot, and then he died. What have you done since his return, Dick? You threw him into Arkham, that’s what._

But Jason had done unspeakable crimes. He had perverted the Bat symbol, had stained it with blood and dirt. He had hurt members of Dick’s family, time and time again, and tore Bruce’s heart to shreds. Jason was their darkest demon. He was the personification of the shadows that haunted them in their sleep. He was a hunter, and had no more mercy to his name.

Wasn’t he?

Dick moved further into the apartment, and stood in the door of what was most likely the living room. His eyes took in the burgundy walls, coupled with cream-coloured moulding and curtains. It was a homely place, and looked lived in. The couches were a shade of tan, and suited the rest of the interior nicely. 

His eyes landed on the sofa parallel to the door and felt his heart stop at the sight. Stop, stutter, and start up again.

Jason was leaning against one of the armrests, the rest of his body sprawled out across the expanse of the leather. Stephanie, nearly half his size, was laying down on his chest, a plate of cookies on the table in front of them. The dogs were in various places: Laurel was on the opposite armrest, Moony was on the floor in front of Jason, and Dixon was in Stephanie’s arms.

That wasn’t what had stolen Dick’s breath, though. It had been Jason’s carefree smile, the warmest look he had ever seen on the man’s face. He also had a hand on Stephanie’s head, and the blonde was animatedly explaining what had happened on her and Cass’ last date. 

It was clear that the duo did this often from the sheer familiarity they were emitting. Had this been what he was missing? Is this what happened whenever Dami was over, too? Jason was never like this before, never like this with _him_ —

The guilt that ripped through him was enough to make his knees buckle.

_When did I ever give him the chance?_  

“Todd, I’m famished, I demand—” 

All three heads whipped towards the window, where a small figure was climbing through. He’s been focused on getting into the room without hitting his head, but as soon as he was, he noticed the third person in the room.

And went still. 

“Grayson?” 

“Baby bro,” Dick murmured, offering the boy a strained smile. Jason and Steph were now sitting up, the latter seated on the actual sofa instead of Jason, and were watching the exchange with tense expressions. “Is there where you’ve been disappearing to after patrol?”

Guilt and apprehension flickered through Dami’s dark irises, but only for a moment before the boy stood straighter and tightened his mouth. “Yes, it has been. Todd has proven to be…formidable company.”

“Jeez, brat, that’s the most positive thing you’ve ever said about me,” Jason shot him a shark-toothed grin. A subtle way of offering the boy some semblance of comfort. “Thanks for the good vibes.” 

“Silence, Todd, the grownups are having a conversation.”

“Wh-Hey! That’s _my_ line!”

Dick most definitely caught the small smile that had appeared on the boy’s face. And was absolutely floored by it. Damian didn’t just smile like that at anybody, and for him to smile like that at _Jason_ …

God, he was really starting to feel like a bastard. Why did he automatically assume Jason was plotting something? Especially when all he was doing was taking care of Dami and Steph?

_You know why_ , a small voice in the back of his head whispered. _You know why, and it shames you._

He didn’t trust Jason.  Had he ever, really? He hadn’t put his faith in him while he was Robin, and then when he came back as the Red Hood… 

The real question was whether or not he trusted the ex-Robin now. 

“Tt. It is of more value when I say it anyways,” Damian scoffed, but all intimidation left him as he was bowled over by the fluffy residents of Jason’s apartment. “You rascals—!”

They all watched on with varying degrees of amusement as Damian rolled around on the ground, surrounded by Cerberus. They were licking, barking, and cuddling the young Robin, and he was thoroughly enjoying it. 

“I saw you earlier today! I expected you all to be on your best behaviour like I told you to be, but I return to this? Disrespectful!”

The mock anger was completely ruined by the tiny giggles that accented it, and Dick felt like his heart would burst with all the affection and tenderness he was feeling for his baby brother. After everything he had been forced to do, had lived through…Dami deserved every shred of happiness he found in life.

A single, peaceful moment passed. 

“Grayson…why are you here?”

The reiteration of the million-dollar question broke them all out of their peaceful reverie. Steph tensed up, and Jason averted his gaze; neither gesture was lost on Robin.

“I wanted to know what Jason was doing with you guys in all the time you’ve been spending together,” Dick admitted, a lick of shame flitting through him as the absurdity of the situation sunk further into his mind. Perhaps confronting the younger man while on patrol wasn’t the smartest idea. Why hadn’t he just asked Jason out to coffee, or dinner, or anything that didn’t immediately make it seem like Dick thought of him as a criminal?

_You know why._  

“Todd is capable of many things, but I do not believe…he would harm me. Nor Brown,” Damian frowned, pulling down his hood and running a gloved hand through his flattened tresses. Normally, Jason would ruffle the raven-coloured mess, but the atmosphere in the small room was still stuffy.

“Maybe I didn’t think this through as thoroughly as I should’ve,” Dick mumbled, scratching the back of his head, mind reeling as it took in the new details. Damian…defending Jason? Did Bruce know?

“Maybe you didn’t think through this at all,” Jason couldn’t help but mutter, shooting the older bird an annoyed glare. It had him...on edge, having Nightwing in his apartment. He really hoped he wouldn't have to end up moving. “Are you staying or leaving, Goldie?”

Was he? What did he want to do?

He took in the way Damian was already shifting closer to the sofa, where Jason and Stephanie were shuffling around to make room for the boy. He listened to their discussion on what movies to watch, and what take-out to order. He watched, he listened, and he…he yearned. 

He wanted to be a part of this, for however long they would let him.

“I’m staying,” he finally replied, voice firm. Jason gave him a mute nod, and Damian flashed him a rare look of relief. With that said, Dick peeled off his domino mask, laid his escrima sticks down on the table, and pounced onto the couch.

Twin sounds of complaint arose as the entire piece of furniture shifted, Jason growling about his walls and Stephanie complaining about the cookie she’d nearly dropped. He simply threw them a lopsided grin, and watched as Damian left the room. He came back a few minutes later, in a loose-fitting tee and a pair of sweats, and without pause climbed into Dick’s lap.  

It was quite a sight, he was sure. The pups had claimed one of the seats to themselves, limiting the quartet to the remaining two seats. Steph had settled down on Jason’s lap, and the latter had wrapped them up in a blanket that had been pulled from somewhere. That left Dick with the middle seat, and Damian was now curled up in his brother’s arms, at ease. 

“Alright, squirt, brat, what do you want to watch?” Jason asked, remote in his hand as he pulled up the main title screen of Netflix.

“Mad Max: Fury Road!” Stephanie chirped, looking excited. When Damian didn’t object the choice, Jason nodded and pulled the movie up, pressing play and leaning back against the couch. 

Dick, feeling more at peace than he had in a long time, smiled softly and did the same. 

Though he kept most of his attention trained on the movie, he did note the way Stephanie grew progressively drowsy. Jason was running a hand through her hair, the blonde’s head tucked into the crook of his neck. It was an endearing sight, and Dick found it hard to keep his eyes off of the duo. He wanted to immortalize this moment, this _feeling_ , to remember for as long as he could. He wanted to show everyone the softness of Jason’s teal irises, a contrast to the overbearing rage that always made his eyes look greener—harsher—than they really were. He wanted Bruce to see the soft smile Jason had on his face as he watched Stephanie fall asleep, the soulful tenderness he clearly held for the teen that he kept tucked away from the world.

He wanted to show Alfred that the scrappy kid that had enjoyed cooking so much was still here, buried deep under the rubble of a phantom warehouse on fire.

But most of all, he wanted to show _himself_ that this was his brother. His long-lost brother, alive, breathing, _well_. A stern reminder that Jason was not a figment of gunpowder and bloodlust, but a wandering soul that had suffered more than he deserved to.

A soft snore interrupted his thoughts.

Dick, startled, glanced down to find Damian asleep, face pressed against his brother’s collarbone and fists clinging to the Nightwing suit. A quick look to his right proved that Stephanie was also asleep, and Jason had his chin placed atop her messy curls. As soon as he felt Dick’s gaze, though, he lifted his head and shot the man a questioning look.

“Can we talk outside?” Dick asked quietly, already moving to lay Damian down on the sofa. The dogs, seemingly knowing what he intended, moved out of the way without a sound; he lay Dami down, arranging the boy in a way that wouldn’t hurt his neck.

Jason stood carefully, cradling Stephanie’s body against his chest in a criminally gentle manner. He laid her back down on his seat, making sure her head was properly cushioned up on the armrest, before wrapping her up in the blanket that they had previously been under. And when he thought Dick wasn’t looking, the man placed a gentle kiss atop her forehead, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face.

Dick felt himself choking up, and forced himself to look away from the scene. This moment…out of all the instances in the night, _this_ was the moment he most felt like he was intruding on something private. And the thought hurt, more than any mortal wound could; he felt like a stranger looking through the window, despite the fact that these were his siblings.

More than anything, he wanted to fix this. Mend the bridges between him and Jason, pull the man back into the folds of their family, with or without Bruce.

Jason gestured for him to follow, back out into the hallway and up the stairs. Wordlessly, the duo walked up onto the second floor, where they exited through a window and found themselves on the roof of the apartment complex. 

Jason was annoyed at the torrential anxiety that had built up in the pit of his stomach as he waited for Dick to start speaking. What if he tried to tell him to stop hanging around the Bats? Told him to stay away from Steph and Dami again? 

Like hell. He’d fight for them.

(They fought for _him_.)

But what came out of Dick’s mouth was completely different from what he was expecting. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Oh. Well. 

“For?” 

Dick paused, a look of phantom pain flitting across his features. “Would saying everything even cover it all?” 

Jason scoffed, familiar anger beginning to take hold in his chest. Unwanted memories of a dark, stuffy cell began to surface in his mind, the eternal ache in his limbs amplifying at the mere thought of what had happened in that godforsaken place.

How could he possibly forgive anyone for that?

“You threw me in Arkham.”

It was a flat statement; emotionless, detached, and everything Dick didn’t want to hear. Not right now, when he wanted to talk through all their issues and come to a mutual conclusion to…to do something. Anything. Try _harder_.

“I…I thought it would help you, that _they_ would help you—” 

“I was five doors down from the Joker,” Jason spat out, finally revealing what had been plaguing him since the moment he had escaped from the dark confines. A sharp feeling of regret was beginning to burn through him, the ache leaving him physically vulnerable. He didn’t want to have this conversation right now. He wasn’t…he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t mentally prepared.

But would he ever be?

_He knew the answer._

“Jay…I can’t change the past,” never before had Dick ever sounded so fucking _bleak_. “If I could go back…if I had been able to think of a better alternative to sticking you in that place…I would have. I would have!”

“Would you have?” Jason’s sardonic inquiry froze the blood in the older man’s veins, but he carried on, ruthlessly. “Or would it have just given you more reason to throw me in there with him? With all the others I personal threw in there? Did it ever occur to you that I had enemies, and that they were stuck in Arkham?”

“No, because I was too busy _pretending to be someone I wasn’t_!” 

The sudden outburst brought about a pause to Jason’s tirade, and he took a moment to look at Dick. His brother was heaving, eyes dangerously bright and hands curled into fists.

“I was…I had to step up and do one of the things I never wanted to do,” Dick felt his eyes slid shut instinctively as he struggled to keep his tears at bay. “I loved him, I really did, but I didn’t…to be Batman was never my dream. I never wanted it, Jason.”

“But I had to,” a bitter smile appeared on his face, a numbness beginning to spread through his body. Never before had he verbally acknowledged this part of himself, or admitted what a burden it had been, to be Batman. What the cost had been. Alfred was, perhaps, the closest to understanding the turmoil Dick had put himself through, during his stint at the dark knight. And now…Jason.

But if telling Jason all this would help him understand, help him heal…then Dick would spill all his secrets and then some. 

He continued.

“I had to and I…I had to be a great role model for Dami. I had to hold it together for the city. And I guess…I guess I was just trying to think like Bruce, trying to…see it the way he would.”

“You threw me in Arkham because you thought that’s what Bruce would do,” not a question, but a statement. It sounded almost incredulous but almost…amused? Dick felt a forgone flicker of hope, somewhere deep within him. “Damn, Goldie. Can’t say you didn’t nail it.”

Crass humour was always Jason’s preferred form of deflection.

Dick stepped closer to Jason, barely noticing the rising sun in the distance that painted the city in soft colours. He kept moving until his was side by side with his little brother, close enough to feel the heat emanating from him.

“If I could take it back, I _would_ ,” Dick repeated, pouring all his conviction into the simple statement. Jason didn’t say anything, and Dick…he didn’t know what he could say beyond that point, without prompt. So he waited. He waited for his little brother to want to come back, to come…home. 

“Do you really expect—” 

Dick leaned forward abruptly, a hand reaching for the back of Jason’s head as he pressed their foreheads together. 

“You are my brother,” he whispered fiercely, tears burning in the corner of his eyes as he stared at the flushed vigilante. “We may have our differences, and you may not need me, but you are my _brother_ and that counts for more than _something_ , Jay, it counts for _a lot_.”

“You don’t mean that,” Jason managed to spit out, trying to pull away. But Dick’s hold was too firm and Jason was too drained, this deep in his emotions. “You never did!”

 “I _always_ did,” Dick snarled back, feeling an infinite amount of shame settle into him. How far had they pushed Jason, for him to think so little of their words? But he knew. He knew. They pushed him too far, so far that he was scared of coming back.

And now…now Dick was so damn worried that there was no going back. No fixing.

“Some things were just meant to be broken. I’m one of them. Just…just let go, Dick,” Jason was tired of fighting. He was tired of fighting _Dick_ , at least. Dick, who threw him in Arkham. Dick, who was only doing what Bruce would’ve done.

Dick, who lost so much of himself while parading around as Batman.

(How much would you have lost, if you had to suffer under the weight of that particular pressure? How much more broken would you have been? How much more lost would you be? Dick did it. Dick took on the cape, the cowl, the pain, the legacy…why? Why, why, why, why—but _you know why_. 

So no one else would have to.)

Dick, who had found new hope in himself, for Jason. For his…his…

(What was it, the thing you wanted most? What is the one thing that could put the ashes and the shredded remains of a dead memory back _together_ …?

What did you beg for, those dark, dark nights you spent locked up in that hellhole?

Who did you want to come save you?)

“Let me go,” Jason repeated, but it came out as a plea, as a half-torn sob that tasted of injustice and blood and suffering.

“Never,” Dick gave him a heartbreaking smile, as bright as the dawn light.

And finally, _finally_ , it felt like something had clicked between the estranged brothers; Jason, eyes bleary, moved in closer and pulled his older brother into a fierce hug, shakings fingers clenching into fists as Dick held onto him tight.

“I know I missed you growing up, Jay, but you’re still my baby brother, even if you’re taller than me, bigger than me, and could potentially kick my ass. And I’m sorry…I’m sorry it took me this long, to look past my own feelings and to look at yours.”

“I’m sorry for everything I did,” Jason never had felt smaller than he did in that moment, apologies falling from his lips and leaving a burning feeling in his mouth. God, he really _was_ sorry. Everything he was, everything he had done…he clung to Dick harder, feeling very much like the little boy who had come home to his mother’s dead body. Like the screaming zombie that had come crawling out of the Lazarus Pit, pleading and sobbing for a father who wouldn’t come. “I just…it was so…the Pit changed me, brought forth something vile in me and I acted on it, and I—" 

“I know, Jay. I know,” Dick murmured gently, afraid to the ruin the moment so fragile. They quieted down after that, Dick basking in the feeling of holding his long-lost brother in his arms for the first time in a long time, and Jason enjoying the feeling of being held by someone older, someone who only wanted to protect him. 

How long had it been, since the last time he had had comfort like this?

“The brats are going to wake up soon,” Jason finally broke away, pretending like his eyes weren’t wet. “I gotta make them breakfast.” 

“Them? What about me?” Dick whined, a carefree grin gracing his face as they both headed back into the apartment. Everything suddenly felt…lighter, knowing he had mended his relationship with Jason.

If only they had done this sooner.

“Only if you promise not to eat everything,” Jason shot back, scoffing despite the wolfish grin he sported. “You touch the waffles, Steph’ll kill you. Bacon that’ll be on the green plate is only for Dami…it’s vegan.”

“Where did you manage to find vegan bacon to buy?”

Jason snorted, mock-offended. “I found and altered a recipe.”

They entered the living room, where soft sunshine filtered through the curtains and illuminated the room. Stephanie and Damian were stirring, in a manner that reminded the two men that they were still young. Damian, in particular, was still a child, in every sense of the word.

It was a nice, serene moment. Jason watched the duo for a second, spared them a small smile, and then made his way into the kitchen. Since it was the room connected to the living room, the others could still see him.

Which is maybe why Stephanie started, and nearly fell off the couch in her haste.

“Hey, Jay…you’re technically a grandpa!” Steph gasped, sitting ramrod straight. “Laurel and Moony are your kids, and Dixon is _their_ kid…Dixon’s your grandpup! You’re a _grandpa_!” 

“Is this what you think about when you’re asleep?” Jason asked, sounding incredulous. As he pulled out eggs, milks, and a varying number of ingredients, he could hear Dick laughing loudly and Damian no doubt making a scathing comment.

It was a…nice moment. It almost felt like they were…

His heart stalled, and his mind didn’t want to go there. Didn’t want to make it real, tangible, because then he could lose it, he could ruin it, he could—

No.

He could be brave.

Jason Todd let his eyes shut briefly and collected himself before completing the thought.

_It felt like they were a family._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh this is really late and I'm sorry about it! It was a really hard chapter for me to write because I wanted to properly address all the issues between Dick and Jason but....I don't think I even ended up doing that, aha. As always, my love to you all for the continuous support, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as the last two!


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